


Of Hearts

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Bright Young Things
Genre: Banter, Cute, Kissing, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Teasing, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 17:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19277971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Ginger and Miles play.





	Of Hearts

“It’s simply dreadful,” Miles said miserably. They had moved the bed up close to the window, and from the fourth floor of their hotel, he could see the empty streets outside, the sheer misery of it all as the rain washed over the cobbles as if it was rifling through their cracks for money, and as the fat, thick drops streaked the window. Even the  _noise_  of it rather rankled, a rhythmic thud upon the roof and the window panes, and one of the gutters outside was sputtering, rather tested to its limit by the unexpected downpour. “Oh, Ginger, however are we meant go anywhere in all this wet?”

“We aren’t,” said Ginger, and his body came to drape Miles’ back, that his chest was against him, the hair there tickling some, his chin upon the curls of Miles’ hair, his hands slithering about his waist to tickle Miles’ thighs and make him giggle and jerk. “We’re going to stay here  _forever_.”

“We can’t, you beast.”

“Can’t we? But we must! Look at all that wet, Miles.”

“Oh,” Miles murmured, catching Ginger’s hands in his own, to dissuade any further tickling, and fell back against him. They were each quite naked from their night’s repose, but there was not, as once there had been with other men, an urgency to the fact, or a general pressure to do something about said nudity. There was no sharp understanding that if you did not provide something pleasant to look at or even pleasanter to do, the man behind you would soon tire of you and go off elsewhere.

Ginger wasn’t like that.

Ginger would stay.

It was freeing in a way Miles knew not how to describe, that he might be naked with a chap - and truly naked, too, not merely divested of his beautiful clothes, but of his beautiful make-up, too, and of his beautiful fancies and beautiful lies - and feel nothing except the warm air upon his skin, or perhaps his hands, and know it didn’t have to end in sex.

Certainly, it often did - he liked sex most dreadfully.

But there was never any expectation, and that made all the difference, or so it seemed to him.

“What shall we do instead, then?” he asked, and Ginger’s breath was hot on the back of his neck as he kissed from the base of it into Miles’ hairline, his sharp nose, tapping against Miles’ scalp and making him laugh as he struggled, but Ginger held him fast and manfully prevented his escape.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ginger murmured. “Play cards?”

“You rugged animal.”

“Could an animal find the Queen of Hearts and nibble on her ear?”

“Absolutely.”

Ginger’s teeth tickled against the shell of Miles’ ear, and Miles squealed his delight.

“Oh,” Ginger said, “then a rugged animal I am!” and wrestled Miles down onto the mattress. They played like wolf cubs, or kittens, so it seemed to Miles, neither of the two of them putting much strength behind their movements, neither really  _biting_ , and it was so tremendous, so wonderful…

They finished with Miles on top of him, straddling Ginger’s chest with Ginger’s hands upon his hips, and Ginger smiled up at him like he was made of starlight, the handsome little mark on his lip twisting with his grin. “Miles,” he said.

“Ginger?” Miles asked, breathless, a glow on his chest and another in his cheeks.

“You are exquisite,” Ginger murmured, and Miles  _beamed_ , leaning forward and rubbing their noses together, although it made his back ache terribly, to be bent into so awkward a position.

“You aren’t a beast,” Miles murmured.

“You’re taking away my title so soon?”

“No, giving you a new one, dearest, do let Mother speak.” Miles pecked his lips against Ginger’s, a chaste little thing, as a bird pecks at the ground. “You might be my Knave of Hearts, if you like.”

“Oh,” Ginger said, puffing out his chest in gratitude of the honour as bestowed. “Yes, I should like that  _very_  much. Won’t you kiss me?”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t?”

“I won’t.”

“Then I shall have to steal my kisses.”

“No– Ah, ah,  _Ginger!”_  Miles protested, squealing as he was rolled over onto his back, and as Ginger’s mouth traced a constellation of adoration over his neck, his chest, his shoulders, his elbows, his wrists, he couldn’t hold back the desperate joy in his laughter, and he wriggled the whole way through. 


End file.
